


Bee's Wing

by Roterwolkenvogel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, The Author Regrets Nothing, this is all just in good fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roterwolkenvogel/pseuds/Roterwolkenvogel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post RotK. Eowyn and Faramir are just friends, but she can't help talking about him (he's her lady bro) whenever Eomer pays her a visit. Curious, he decides to meet Faramir himself. Now he'd like to be more than friends, but he's not sure how to go about courting someone as emotionally sensitive as Faramir. So he goes looking for advice. Lots and lots of advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bee's Wing

**Author's Note:**

> I started to write this back in 2013 as part of a story swap (the summary is what my swap partner mentioned she'd like) but never made it past chapter 1 b/c I am a horrible human being in a creative writing slump since 2010. But I figured that by finally posting the whole damn thing up on the internet I might be more inclined to finish it. One can hope.
> 
> There is also not enough Èomer/Faramir fanfiction out there.

It had been weird days at the House of Healings in Gondor, Eowyn muses, when her brother was out, lingering before Mordor in an attempt to draw Sauron’s attention away from the Halflings on their way to destroy the one ring.

Days, where every second seemed to stretch for an eternity and the whole city had held its breath, waiting for the outcome of such a suicide squad.

She had trembled with adrenaline, always running around in a pitiful attempt to escape her feverish thoughts, fixed on the events in Mordor. Eowyn was sure that she would have lost her mind if it weren’t for Faramir, Steward of Gondor.

The man had kept her company during those dark days, during the even darker hours of the nights when she could see the fires of Mordor burning.

 

Curled up against his side, her head buried in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his clothes, fresh with no hint of the metallic smell of blood. His arms around her waist, steadying her for the nightmares to come. And yet innocently, no trace of lust and desire, just two people seeking comfort in each other's arms.

She had been so grateful for his calming presence, the fact that despite his own demons he had to fight he still had enough will power left to fight hers as well.

 

And then, the relief that seeped through the city when the news of the victory reached the city of Gondor. Oh what a great burden that took of her mind! Her brother safe, the King of Gondor safe, the Halflings safe as well! It was the first day she had genuinely laughed, throwing her arms around Faramir’s neck, cheering with the crowd.

The excitement had soon passed during the wait for the soldiers to reach the White City, her fears of being rejected by Aragorn once again had bubbled up and she spent a great deal of time in Faramir’s room whilst the steward prepared the city for the return of the king. And again it had been Faramir to hold her tight and whisper that love would come to her because she was a lovable person and she had believed him as his voice sounded so sincere and his smile warmed her heart.

 

And then they came. Rows and rows of soldiers and the heroes riding in front of them and as Minas Tirith’s gates opened the people burst into cheers.

There had been rejection, just as she feared but the kind personality of Arwen, Aragorns beloved had made it bearable.

 

Eowyn shakes her head, trying to focus onto the pale linen in front of her that she’s trying to transform into a dress worth wearing at the royal wedding of Aragorn, King of Gondor and lady Arwen Evenstar.

 

From the other side of the room her brother Eomer eyes her. He knows that look on his sister’s face, that blank stare that indicates that she’s back on the battlefield with the witch king, in the House of Healing, waiting for the final battle. And yet she also shows a serene look of peace, her eyes shining and she herself seem to glow from within. He suspects that the steward of Gondor might have a great deal to do with it and even though he owes the man for tearing his beloved sister away from the shadows the mere idea of her not coming back to Rohan with him makes him uncomfortable.

But he’s well aware that he can’t deny Eowyn her own happiness, not after the whole debacle with Aragorn and that love that got crushed like a little flower under horse hooves.

 

“He’s a good man”, Eomer begins and when Eowyn looks at him blankly he adds: “Faramir, I mean. And I wish you to know that if you want to marry him and stay in Gondor you’ll have my blessing.”

“Marry? Faramir?”, To his surprise she starts laughing, little giggles she tries to suppress at first but then she gives up, throwing her head back and howling with laughter. “Oh brother”, she giggles “I love Faramir but it’s a love a sister has for her brother, nothing more. He was my anchor, my constant during those dark days but there is no desire between us.”

She stands up to cross the room, laying her arms around his neck and bringing their foreheads together. “Haven’t you met him, brother? If you had you’d understand why there can’t be anything else between us than the love siblings have for each other”

Eomer gives her a reassuring smile. He had only briefly seen the man when they reached Minas Tirith, the lean figure welcoming Aragorn, his face so much softer than Boromir’s ever was. He had been surprised by Faramir - he had known Boromir due to his brief visits in Edoras and according to the stories he told he had imagined Denethor’s second as somewhat of a scholar, nose always buried in books and only coming out of the libraries when he was summoned by his father.

But Faramir is everywhere at once, so it seems. Preparing the city for the royal wedding, wading through Denethor’s papers in an attempt to get things in order and joining Aragorn when the king holds court for the people of Minas Tirith once a week to lend an ear to their sorrows.

They haven’t spoken with each other yet - there’s always someone else between them during the meals in the great hall and both of them are busy with their people during the day. Eomer has suspected that the other man has tried to avoid him at all cost because of his dalliance with Eowyn and the fact that Eomer is not only the King of Rohan but also her brother. But Eowyn’s recent revelations makes him think that it’s really just unfortunate luck that has kept him from talking to the steward as of yet.

 

“No I haven’t, sister”, he answers: “But I’d like to as I want to thank him for keeping you sane till my return.”

Eowyn looks a bit surprised but nods: “Very well, come join me in my attempt to find the future queen - I have some things I want to ask her regarding the dress code of the wedding and I’m sure we’ll stumble over the steward on our way”

 

|||

 

The queen is an easy target, she spends a great deal of her time in Aragorn’s study - which the king never uses because he’s out in the city to take notes of the damage which occurred during the siege - talking to her father and her grandparents, who have decided to hold off their departure to the Grey Havens till the wedding.

As expected she sits on the big wooden desk, a feather in her hand, papers cluttering everywhere on the surface. But she smiles when Eowyn and Eomer enter and her smile is open and friendly, something Eomer is surprised every time he finds himself subjected to it as he had always thought of elves as very serious creatures (apart from Legolas but he never viewed Legolas as your regular elf, not after the drinking game with Gimli he had witnessed).

 

So deep he is in his thoughts that he misses the knock on the door and Arwen’s “Enter” and finds himself face to face with a very heavy door that ends up meeting his nose in a very unpleasant manner.

There’s suddenly a lot of blood, a pleasant voice apologizing a dozen times while Eowyn scolds him for standing in the most idiotic spot he could have chosen and therefore the only one to blame for his injuries is himself.

Someone grabs his arm and maneuvers him out of the room and hands him a towel to press on his still bleeding nose.

“The next time you should try not to stand within the reach of the door”, the pleasant voice from before advises and Eomer turns his head to find himself facing the steward of Gondor who looks at him with concern in his eyes.

“No need to worry, I’ve survived more unpleasant injuries than this encounter with one of Aragorn’s doors.”

 

Faramir laughs and suddenly Eomer can’t help but take notice how the other man’s eyes seem to glitter with amusement and how it seems to take years off him when he laughs.

With a sudden clarity he understands why he had thought that Eowyn might have a dalliance with this man for he is kind hearted and caring. And with the same thought comes the realization that it’s not Eowyn’s heart for whom he should fear but his own.

 

|||

 

Faramir hauls the King of Rohan to the House of Healing while the other man still presses the now red towel on his nose. He can’t help but feel guilty every time he looks at the blonde because despite Eowyn stating that her brother has “a thing for standing in the wrong spots and then getting hit by heavy objects” he still thinks he should have opened that door more carefully than he did.

They manage it through the streets without too many witnesses and he’s grateful when the healer says that nothing is broken (“just cracked and I’m sure he's had worse”) and he leaves the King of Rohan sitting on a bed and complaining that this injury hardly makes him an invalid and he’s not sure why he has to stay till his sister has picked him up.

 

The tasks ahead of Faramir soon take his mind off the door incident and when it’s time for dinner he has pushed his guilt into a small corner of his mind, buried by lists of damages that needs to be repaired as soon as possible, complaints about two of the Halflings trying to steal some of the good wine reserved for the wedding and other countless little problems of Minas Tirith’s population.

 

|||

 

Eomer on the other hand sits on one of the beds in the House of Healing, a wet cloth pressed onto his nose and the chatter of two elderly women in the room next to him.

His mind however is with the steward. They haven’t even spoken much besides the other’s countless apologies but he finds himself wishing for more time with the other man to get to know him better, to see his eyes fill with amusement when he laughs and he wants to smooth down the small lines of sorrow in Faramir’s face.

 

Eowyn picks him up a few hours later and her lips twitch with suppressed laughter when she sees him sitting on the small bed.

“When I said that I wanted you to meet Faramir, this wasn’t what I had in mind”, she smiles and takes his face in her hands to look at his nose. “Poor Faramir will feel guilty for the rest of his life whenever he sees you”, she sighs and pulls him up.

“It wasn’t his fault as you’ve already told him - I doubt he’ll fret too much over such a minor incident like this”, Eomer takes her hand to lead her out of the room on the streets.

“Faramir… he tends to feel responsible for everything that happens no matter if he is or not”, she looks at him with a serious expression: “I’d feel better if you could talk to him again to reassure him that it was by no means his fault”

She can’t possibly know, Eomer thinks, how grateful he is for that excuse to talk to the steward without being too obvious of his real intentions (of which he isn’t even sure yet apart from that need to be near Faramir again).

 

|||

 

The great hall is full and even louder than usual because for the first time after their return Frodo sits with them and both Merry and Pippin take this as an excuse to make fools of themselves to make him laugh whilst Sam sits silently besides his master, watching him closely for any signs of exhaustion.

“Aren’t hose Halflings fascinating people?”, a voice speaks into Eomer’s ear and he turns around to find Faramir sitting in Merry’s abandoned chair whilst the former occupant is jumping and singing on the table.

“A lot of men lie in the House of Healing, they might not be psychically injured but their minds can’t seem to be torn away from the battlefield. And here we have the Halflings who fought alongside men against Sauron and just a few weeks after his fall they are already singing and dancing again.”

“It might be just their way to deal with what they’ve experienced”, Eomer answers and can’t help but laugh when Merry stumbles over a plate and takes Pippin down with him while they smash a bowl of fruits.

“Sometimes I wish I were a Halfling”, Faramir sighs and again Eomer feels the need to ease the other’s worries but before he can do anything the steward continues: “But forgive me for trying to load my worries onto your shoulders, King of Rohan. I’m sure you have a lot to deal with yourself”. And with these words he rises from the seat but Eomer catches his sleeves: “Stay if you don’t mind. Eowyn speaks of you with great love so I’d love to talk to you and get to know you better”.

He’s rewarded with a soft smile when Faramir sits down again and neither of them sees the speculating glance Eowyn eyes them with.

 

The meal continues for quite a while with Merry and Pippin wrecking a not small amount of china and Arwen just barely manages to rescue a vase before it meets the same unfortunate fate.

No one manages to be angry with them though as Frodo is visibly amused by his friends’ fooling and they’ve all been worried about him while he lay pale in the House of Healing.

Faramir and Eomer however are lost to the world, talking to each other and Eomer knows that he has lost himself in those brown eyes of his conversational partner. He’s even a bit jealous when Aragorn interrupts to ask about something minor Faramir was supposed to deal with today and the steward turns away with an apologetic smile to heed to his king.

 

When he tries to distract himself from staring at Faramir’s (albeit pretty) backside, he meets Eowyn’s calculating gaze, her eyes fixed on him and her brows tightly knit.

He looks away with the uncomfortable feeling that his sister knows what he’s still trying to push aside. And years of living with her have taught him to fear her sharp mind for what it is: the one of a woman and women are dangerous when it comes to their loved ones.

 

|||

 

The King of Rohan manages to escape from the banquet unnoticed (thanks to Pippin breaking the vase Arwen thought safe and the resulting argument) and he actually reaches his quarters without being subjected to the questioning face of his sister any longer (for which he’s grateful because he can live very well without a discussion about what he plans to do with Faramir’s virtue because he’s not even sure of it himself and he certainly won’t admit any of it to his sister of all people. Or maybe he would just because she is his sister and therefore accustomed to all his quirks).

 

In his quarters he slumps into a chair, his mind slightly clouded by the wine he consumed and he can feel a dull headache pounding in the back of his head.

Ironically someone is also pounding on his door just mere seconds after he entered and he has no doubt who it is – he briefly considers to be still like an animal hoping for the hunter not to notice it but the person outside gives him no time for an answer but sweeps into the room, dress billowing behind her like swan wings

 

Eowyn closes the door and looks at him with a stern frown, her arms crossed in front of her chest – it’s the look she displays whenever she sees herself in a situation she doesn’t approve of.

Eomer can vividly remember her looking that way at their parents’ funeral and later on when Théoden welcomed them in Edoras and he has come to fear the look for the stealth in his sister’s actions in causes to come to the surface.

 

“What intentions do you have regarding the steward of Gondor?” Her voice is smooth and soft and yet a certain promise lingers behind it – the promise that if the answer is not satisfying she will not refrain from more drastic actions to get the answer she wants to hear.

“You make it sound like I have intentions which I can assure you I have not…”, Eomer trails of when she sneers at him.

“Stop it brother. We’ve known each other for so long that it’s impossible to hide anything. You’ve guessed my attraction to Aragorn with the same certainty I’m seeing that you are attracted to Faramir. And do not “, She raises a hand: “try to deny it. I saw how you looked at him during dinner as if you were a hunter and he your prey!”

“I can assure you that I don’t plan on trying to test his virtue, Eowyn. As much as I’d love to get to know him closer I doubt that this is what he wants.”

Eomer does not understand the pitiful look Eowyn starts to give him as if she knows something he doesn’t (which she probably does, she’s a woman after all).

“I’m not concerned for his virtue, more for his peace of mind. Eomer, Faramir is emotionally sensitive, so easy to throw out of balance. And he’s hurt. He lost his brother whom he loved dearly and he lost his father on whom he – despite their abusive relationship – he depended in some ways. Anymore of this and he might shatter like glass and none of us would want to see this happen”

He’s taken aback by his sister’s speech but he understands – he has seen Faramir’s fragility during dinner, his struggles to push his personal problems back to fulfill his duty as the steward of Gondor. And yet he wants to ease the older man’s mind from his worries just to get him to smile at him again.

 

“What do you want me to do now Eowyn?”, He asks softly: “Shall I act like I don’t know him anymore, ignore him?”

“No”, she answers: “He deserves to be happy and if he’s happy with you I – and no one else – won't object. However…”, she adds when she strolls towards the door: “…he needs to be properly courted, not your usual plump style of advances.”  
She leaves and Eomer looks as if he got beaten with a club. Sensitive is not really his “style” and especially not regarding someone who is as emotionally sensitive as the steward.

 

|||

 

Morning finds a very distraught King of Rohan still in the chair he occupied the night before and it’s quite obvious that he hasn’t really slept but instead spent the past hours thinking. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to handle this particular problem, a problem that can’t be solved with just killing the source of the problem (Sauron) or kissing it till it surrenders (most of his crushes, apart from maybe his secret man!crush on the King of Gondor but that’s something born out of respect and nothing he plans to act on) and he is sure that if he just brushes away his sister’s concern it’ll not only go terribly wrong but will also leave him to deal with the people who decided to tuck Faramir under their literal wings and from what he’s gathered so far, there are a lot of them.

 

In the end it’s Arwen he approaches first. After all it’s her steward he plans on courting and even though she’s not technically the queen yet everyone already treats her as such.

 

(Because let’s face it, every man needs a scary woman to watch his back and despite her soft appearance Arwen is fierce and fully capable of making your life hell if she wishes to do so)

 

So Eomer stands in Arwen’s study (actually Aragorn’s as mentioned previously but Arwen already made the room _hers_ so that he’s sure that the king will have to look out for a new one once he stops running around in the open and resumes to deal with the incoming paperwork himself), in front of the wooden desk and feels like a boy who’s seconds away from getting scolded by his mother.

And he hasn’t even begun to explain why he’s here (if he’s quite honest with himself he does not want to have this conversation. At all) and he already wishes it would be over.

 

“How can I help you, Eomer, King of Rohan?”, Arwen asks softly and looks up from a very official-looking piece of paper.

“Well..”, Eomer trails off and waves his hands in the air: “I’ve just dropped by to…”

 

(Well yes, to what? To ask if anyone would have objections if he drags the Steward of Gondor into his bed and properly debauches him? He can’t put it that way, not in front of a woman, double that if it’s the goddamn queen and wife of his most important ally)

 

“Ah, you came because of Faramir, right? Eowyn already stopped by to tell me that you have inclinations towards our steward”, the queen puts the scroll aside, her gaze still fixed on Eomer’s face who goes pale as death and looks at her in blank disbelief.

“She seems to think that you are unable to properly court dear Faramir without scaring him to death and given the stories she told me, I’m inclined to agree that even though you won’t do it intentionally, it’ll still end up rather unfortunate for everyone involved if you follow your usual approach of situations like this”

“So you’ll forbid me to talk to Faramir?”, he croaks out, still in disbelief of what he just heard (and that Eowyn apparently saw the need to outline all his previous relationships in great detail to _Arwen_ of all people).

“No”, the queen’s smile holds the promise of another shoe to drop: “I’m just telling you to seek advice of people more experienced in courting someone before you do something stupid”

 

And with that he’s clearly dismissed as Arwen turns back to the letters on her desk and dips a feather into the inkwell.

 

|||

 

Eomer holds off going to Eowyn first to confront her as to why she thought it was necessary to inform Arwen of his intentions (and his previous failures). Instead he ends up hiding in the library of Minas Tirith, deeply engrossed in a book about horse breeding when someone behind him coughs and makes him spin around.

In a chair next to the shelf he was leaning on sits Celeborn in all his elfish glory with something he would have called a smug smirk on everyone not an elf.

“I’ve heard you ought to seek advice on courtship”, the elven lord begins without preamble and Eomer can only blink owlishly as for the second time within mere hours an elf has startled him with an unusual forward approach towards a rather delicate matter (either elves are far more forward when it comes to courtship than they are in other things or Arwen got that particular quirk of her grandfather) and he settles on just nodding his agreement as he doesn’t trust his voice.

“Well, I for one have the experience that - especially when two men are involved - getting drunk together not only loosens the tongue but also any reservations that might be in the way of getting into each other’s pants”, Celeborn takes note of Eomer’s face and adds: “The simple fact that elves are rather reserved creatures doesn’t mean that they don’t know their fair share of pleasure, King of Rohan. And of course elves, too, have their black sheep; after all I’ve heard that you’ve met Legolas?”

The man just nods. “See, he isn’t your usual elf and as such he’d most likely agree with my advice.

 

“I’m not sure that there’s any wine left in the royal cellars, Aragorn started to use it to disinfect the wounds of the wounded”, Eomer gathers his wits enough to remember Merry and Pippin complaining about the lack of alcohol to consume.

“Ah well, I’ve brought some of Lothlorien’s wine for my granddaughter’s wedding but I’m sure I can spare a bottle or two. I’ll take care that they get sent to your chambers, King of Rohan”, Celeborn smiles again and gets up in a smooth move to leave Rohan’s king standing startled behind him.

 

|||

 

Of course curiosity drives him towards his chambers just minutes later. Rohan’s soldiers used to tell tales about Lothlorien’s wine and its effects on mankind. No one alive in Rohan can tell these stories based upon firsthand experience as trade with Lothlorien always had been sparse over the past centuries but everyone knows that very few alcoholic substances can keep up with elfish wine.

So he’s delighted to find the two green bottles sitting innocently on his bedside table, and he picks up the scrap of paper beneath them only to let it drop on the ground and rush out of his room in a hurry.

 

_Dearest Eomer,_

_I took the liberty to inform the steward that you wish to have a chat with him in your chambers this afternoon - I’d advise that you dress yourself properly and try to behave._

_Celeborn_

Damn elves!

 

|||

 

“Celeborn gave you some of his wine?”, Faramir asks cautiously as he enters the king’s chambers later that day and eyes the red wine that Eomer fills into their goblets. “We talked about wine and the difference between elfish wine and the one we make in Rohan and he thought I’d enjoy to taste one of the finer ones they produce in Lothlorien”, answers Eomer and makes a point of waving Celeborn’s note in front of the other’s face (without giving him the time to actually _read_ what the elven lord wrote for those sentences are definitely for his eyes only if only for the rather strong words regarding his current state of affair).

 

“Ah”, the steward says nothing more but carefully picks up his goblet to now eye Eomer over the rim of the glass. “I’ve heard that Lothlorien’s finest is quite strong?”

“No worries, I’ve mentioned that you are not really used to strong alcohol so I’m sure he picked one that isn’t as cruel as you might have heard”, the King of Rohan answers cheerfully, silently praying that it’s the truth. He isn’t sure how much Celeborn is willing to take into account that wooing an emotionally sensitive man might be different than wooing the lady Galadriel who is more frightening than a horde of orcs and prolly benefitted from being drunk beyond recognition.

 

Turns out that Celeborn is an idiot on top of being a king.

 

|||

 

There might be better plans to woo a steward but alas, if there are Eomer does not know about them (yet). And the library of Minas Tirith does not exactly provide accurate “how to”-books (he had prowled through it for the good part of the day and whilst he now knows some interesting tips regarding horse breeding he’s not closer to a solution for the actual problem of “wooing the Steward of Gondor”).

 

Which is the reason why he’s now standing in front of Firefoot’s stable, Faramir leaning onto his shoulder, softly snoring. Though Eomer ought to blame the damn wine Celeborn slipped into his room. Whatever it was it is strong to the point of even making his head spin and he can only imagine the impact it has on poor Faramir who – according to his own words a few days ago – rarely ever drinks.

“Faramir?”, he nudges the older man softly and gets nothing. “Damnit”, he mutters under his breath and fiddles with the locks of Firefoot’s stall.

There is no way he’s capable of getting Faramir and himself somewhere near a real bed given how drunk both of them are (he’s not even sure how they ended up here in the stables anyway but the last few hours are just one big blur anyway) but he’s not going to pass out on the cold tiles of the stable floor either. So just sleeping next to Firefoot in the hay is the very best thing to solve that particular problem Eomer can think of in his drunken haze.

 

Firefoot just watches his human closely as he flops down into the hay and draws the smaller brown-haired one closer to him. From across the floor Shadowfax snorts and buries his nose in the food.

 

|||

 

“I don’t want to repeat that experience ever again”, groans Faramir and buries his head in Eomer’s shoulder. The King of Rohan is inclined to agree, considering the pounding headache he nurses and he does not dare to imagine how his drinking buddy must feel.

“Seems like a very wise idea”, somehow he manages to get himself and the steward into a sitting position only to regret it instantly when Faramir turns faintly green and keels over to empty his stomach into the hay.

“Sorry”, he coughs out between retching and Eomer rubs his hands in circles over the older man’s back as his mother used to do when he was sick as a child.

 

“What on earth did you two do?”, a head appears over the stall’s door and Eomer sees himself face to face with Lord Elrond who has apparently grown tired with helping his son-in-law in the House of Healing and came to look after the horses.

“No, don’t answer. Celeborn mentioned something during dinner that had me worried all night. Do they not tell the stories about Lothlorien’s wine in Rohan?”

“They do”, Eomer grimaces and glances at Faramir but the other man doesn’t seem to hear anything right know: “But I might have underestimated them.”

Elrond pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs: “Get him up”, he points at Faramir: “He needs an actual bed and something to calm his stomach”

 

|||

 

“You are a bloody idiot and don’t you dare to deny that!”, Eowyn yelling is thrice as horrible when being drunk on elfish wine and her voice seems to multiply in his head.

He sits slumped on the same chair he spent the night in two days ago whilst Faramir is softly snoring in his bed (neither Elrond nor he knew where Faramir’s chambers were so he ended up in Eomer’s), not caring about the screeching woman right next to him.

“What on middle earth made you think that getting drunk is an acceptable way to someone’s heart!?”

“Celeborn said…”

“Dear god, when Arwen told you to seek the help of someone who knows what he’s doing she certainly meant not an elf! You should know that the elfish way of approaching certain situations is much too different from the customs of men to work”, she shakes her and approaches Eomer to put a cold hand on his sweating forehead.

“Maybe you should take a walk, get some fresh air and get the alcohol out of your blood”, she suggests and pats him on the shoulder.

Eomer is wise enough to heed her advice.

 

|||

 

A lot of things can be said about dwarves but they certainly don’t tend to sit in trees. At least they never did so far as Eomer is concerned.

But Gimli _is_ sitting in one of the trees of the courtyard, gripping the branches as if his life depends on it (it might be, the branches don’t look too stable and Gimli isn’t a lightweight). Though Eomer isn’t sure if it’s still the aftermath of the wine that makes him see dwarves in trees (and he isn’t sure either if that’s better than seeing white mice like the last time he has gotten that drunk).

 

“Oy, Master Dwarf!”, he shouts up towards the green leaves: “What are you doing up there?”

“Shouldn’t you be courting a steward?”, a blond head peeks through the green right besides Gimli before the dwarf has a chance to answer.

Eomer scowls: “Does everyone in that bloody city knows about it?”

“Everyone ‘cept Faramir, I’d guess”, Gimli grumbles and grips the branch he’s sitting on a bit harder as the elf prince gracefully flops down beside him.

“As does everyone know that you ended up drunk in the stables. Drunk on wine meant for the wedding of our dearest Aragorn”, Legolas adds and smirks: “Though in your defense, it was better that the wine won’t be consumed by innocent civilians. I shudder to think what the hobbits would end up doing whilst drunk on that.”

“The hobbits are hardly innocent civilians”, Eomer retorts: “They are warriors just like we are if not by blood then at least due to their share in the ring’s destruction”

“That hardly matters now. What matters is that you managed to get poor Faramir drunk beyond recognition and Eowyn yelling at you”, the blonde grins and jumps from the tree to land gracefully in front of Rohan’s king.

“So we decided to help you”

“We as in…?”

“Gimli and I”

“Do I have to remind you that the recent events are a direct result of heeding an elf’s advice?”

“Heeding _Celeborn’s_ advice, my dearest horse lord. His ways of approaching a problem are certainly _unusual_ and you should have gone straight to Galadriel and tell her to get her husband back in line. But what’s done is done and we try to get that solved”

“By doing what exactly?”

 

Legolas tells him.

 


End file.
